


cosmic love

by Burgundyrose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mild Gore, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burgundyrose/pseuds/Burgundyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A summary: Rose ghostwrites love poetry and Kanaya teaches her the language of flowers.<br/>An even shorter summary: It's gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cosmic love

The violets on my mother’s windowsill were beginning to wilt. The lavish porcelain vase didn’t quite compliment the flowers as well as it might have, yet still gave them an air of sophistication – and better yet, an air of overhanded appreciation. Although they had not been a gift to my mother, and despite the fact that I had intended for my mother to not know of their existence whatsoever, when I walked into the house holding a bouquet of violets, she had nonetheless assumed they were for her. I had let her; it was a lot easier that way.

Then, as any action of love - however false - seemed to encourage in our household, an ornate vase had been purchased to hold the flowers in, with delicate carvings of cherubs and harps adorning its sides. An entire room had been built to hold the violets in, complete with red curtains with gold strings that one had to pull in order to truly appreciate the beauty of the three dollar flowers that she had received, most probably, as a joke. The room, while deeply cherished and such a dear idea, as I had assured my mother, only served to place the violets further from her – and really, unless she had not desired the violets at all in the first place, in which case I had the sincerest apologies, it seemed counterproductive if she truly wished to appreciate the gift.

Immediately the room was demolished, and a new windowsill was designed for my mother’s very own room, with a window to let in plenty of light, and an automatic watering function that she had designed herself. Of course, the original violets were long dead by this point, yet my mother replaced them each week, ensuring that they would not droop the slightest as, she often reminded me, were they not a symbol of our undying bond?

A petal dropped onto the freshly repainted sill. I felt a small shock upon realising it was the first petal to fall – surely, its death was closer at hand, I reasoned. It was miraculous that it had not begun falling apart earlier, as my mother had been otherwise preoccupied with additional acts of love and subsequent acts of appreciation when I reciprocated in whatever way I deemed most extravagant. Most of my savings had been sucked into this vicious cycle, yet when she discovered this – I had still not ascertained how exactly she had discovered this, yet still vowed to enact revenge when her mysterious ways were unveiled - they had been replenished in full and then some, until the amounts in my bank account were frankly ludicrous for an eighteen year old.

Recently, I had turned that money to buying flowers. I didn’t want to repeat the mistake with the violets however, so I was storing them at my close friend Kanaya’s house. She seemed eager to keep them, and they all remained watered and stored properly. Whenever I went over, even if just to pick up something I had left behind last time – a habit I unfortunately have not grown out of yet, despite the many years that made our acquaintance - Kanaya would present one of the newer flowers and quiz me upon their meaning. She quickly learned not to quiz me on the subject of roses of any kind, however, as it led to a prompt exit and an even prompter apology text. Really, I believe I’ve heard almost every pun possible involving my name that even the mere mention of it puts me on guard. Otherwise, under her tutelage, the language of flowers had begun to embed itself into my mind, until I was able to translate some of the more common species with ease. One of the flowers I had to learn was violets. Kanaya had presented it to me, and my mother had taken it. Prior to that, though, Kanaya had informed me it held a romantic meaning, and thus would serve me well in my business.

On that train of thought, I picked up my phone and checked my most recent messages. Kanaya’s name was still planted firmly at the top – she had texted me an hour previously inquiring into my mother’s latest exploits – which meant that my latest customer either was running late or no longer required my services. Dissatisfied, I stopped watched the violet in front of me shed its last petals and left to my own bedroom. I still couldn’t put my finger upon their meaning - something romantic, she had said, as if that wasn’t the meaning of the majority of flowers. Honestly, florists and gardeners and the like must be such hopeless romantics. Kanaya, who often volunteered at their school’s greenhouse, certainly supported this theory if her immense collection of bodice-rippers was any indication. Which, in my opinion, it most definitely was.

Now at my desk, which was heavy with pages of assignments, I began to push away the slips of paper. Some contained ideas that I had written while waiting for a bus, or when waking up from sleep, or, in one special occasion, upon my skin, which Kanaya then took a photo of and printed for me without my knowing, as she had guessed that the crucial words would rub off before I’d find a chance to transcribe them. I had called her obnoxious and she had called me predictable. After some subtle threats, I managed to secure a retrieval of this insult, although I offered no such thing for her, which she had pointed out rather - dare I say it - obnoxiously.

Kanaya, of course, wasn’t obnoxious at all – in all honesty, I probably harboured an excessive amount of approval for her. She was neat and kind, and… like I tended to do when my thoughts delved to this topic, I had been led astray from the work in front of me. Poetry.

A scrap of a movie ticket told me I had been looking for a chance to use the word falsifiable, as I liked its rhythm. Most of my notes were just words I had heard which had struck something within me. The trick was to make those words not only sound pretty within your poem, but make the reader feel somehow prettier from reading it. Although I had relatively limited experience with love poems, what I had delivered to my customers had been well received. Low self-esteem tended to factor quite heavily within my clients, and giving them some beauty in words, if they could not provide it within appearance or attitude, helped garner the affections they desire. I rather missed writing horror stories, like I used to write when I was younger. The words gouged out one’s thoughts, rather than danced among them. It was far more interesting. Kanaya usually had added the romance to them, the kisses before death.

Surprisingly, technology had only served to increase the want for old-fashioned forms of romance, and when I had been first commissioned for a poem – the fare, then, was a switch in biology groups so that I could join Kanaya’s – news spread even faster because of it. Soon, I had a small business, and a business called for professionalism. Thus, my flower classes with Kanaya had begun. I imagine it’s hard to get more romantic than flowers and poetry. At least, my customers seemed to think so.

I began to write.

No more than an hour later, my phone buzzes beside me. I finish the last flick on ‘ _efflorescence_ ’ – another word I had saved – and scan the message. The client.

 

CA: hey u there  
CA: i wwant to buy one of those gf pack things from you. r u still offerin?

I repressed a shudder of repulsion.

TT: I’m here.  
TT: Who’s the lucky lady?  
CA: feferi  
CA: you know  
CA: the short girl in our tute  
TT: I think I understand why you came to me if that’s how you choose to describe her.  
TT: Besides, I could’ve sworn she was already taken.  
CA: yeah but not by fuckin me  
CA: listen this ain’t your concern just get me a pack and ill get you some cash  
TT: I’m afraid there is an extra charge of $30 if the prospective partner in question is already taken.  
CA: are you serious  
TT: Deadly.  
CA: fuck it whatever  
CA: you better be worth it or im getting a refund  
TT: Actually, that won’t be happening. My business does not accept refunds at the current time.  
CA: you know youd get a helluva lot more business if you weren’t such a major bitch all the time  
CA: maybe get a boy yourself instead of matchmakin and backtalkin  
CA: feel free to hmu if you ever decide  
TT: I’ll be sure to remember your charming words when I have finally been released from the shackles of earning nine times the minimum wage in exchange for writing a grand total of 200 words.  
CA: ill be waitin

After a series of increasingly irritating messages from the client, we arranged for the pack to include fish-shaped chocolate, a bouquet of flowers and, of course, an eloquent poem declaring his undying love for her.  


Usually, the girl – or guy, depending on the client – would receive the gift anonymously, before the suitor would reveal themselves either an hour or day afterwards. I had an 80% success rate, although typically the number I presented was 95%.  


While the poem I included was strictly professional – i.e. something delicately walking the line between pretentious and cliché – the bouquets held most of my entertainment. Kanaya would tell me the meaning of each flower, and we’d hide a secret message in there that, realistically, no one else would decode. For this particular client, I was considering either rhododendrons ( _caution; beware_ ) or snapdragons ( _presumptuous_ ), although the florist’s stock and Kanaya’s decision on whether they harmed the bouquet’s harmony would influence their inclusion. She would usually throw in a few that just looked pretty – again, of the utmost importance. She was quite the aesthete, a fact which she reminded me of whenever she designed a new bouquet.  


Soon I realised that I never responded to Kanaya’s message, so I picked up the phone and rang her.  


“Hello?”  


“Rose? Is everything alright? The last time I remember you calling me was when you dyed your hair orange by mistake. Rose, please tell me your hair isn’t orange again, that took such a dreadfully long time to get out. Wait, is everything alright with your mother? I know that she –“  


“Kanaya, I’m fine.”  


“Are you absolutely sure?”  


“Yes. Now, if we could get to the heart of the matter?”  


“Which is?”  


A silence. For a second, I couldn’t actually remember why I called, as I had been distracted by Kanaya’s rambling and my own gratitude at her relentless compassion. It was nice to hear her again too, although it couldn’t have been more than a day since I had last heard her voice. Despite Kanaya’s nerves, her words still had that same undercurrent of familiarity and the intimacy of a deep friendship, like I was coming home after a particularly long day to be embraced by her genuine interest. Before I completely moved on from this strangely domestic hypothetical of moving in with Kanaya – something which we had discussed before in our childhood, when lying on my bedroom floor with all my old and expensive toys scattered around us, and the moon still high in the sky - I decided we would also have a cat.  


“Rose?”  


I’d definitely gone off on a tangent, because despite thinking about her voice for however long, its reappearance still shocked me into an answer.  


“Sorry, the reception here is a bit unreliable today, what with all the construction.”  


“Oh, I almost forgot! How is your mother’s plan unfolding today? Any chance that she’s installing something pure gold so that I may check off yet another square of Rose’s Mother’s Extravagance Bingo which seems like less and less of a problem when considering that you could be experiencing exponentially worse things in life. For example: poverty, homelessness, or Tavros Nitram asking you on a date. Speaking of, guess what cataclysmic event happened to me today?”  


“How many guesses do I get? I think I’ll need at least three, if natural disasters and/or death are automatically discounted.”  


“Ha ha,” she said, saying the words rather than laughing them. She did this more often than laughing, and sometimes I couldn’t tell if she had perhaps gotten so used to saying it that it had replaced her everyday laugh. I hoped not.  


“How did he say it?”  


“The usual way boys ask girls to become ‘theirs’, I suspect. He mumbled next to his friend who kindly decided to translate that he was wondering if perhaps, maybe, if I wanted to -although apparently he had heard I didn’t want to, but if I did, and if it would be okay - if I would mind going to the coffee shop, and if he could also come along, and if we could sit there together, and maybe hold hands.”  


Kanaya paused, seemingly to reapply her lipstick judging by the metallic click I heard through the line. I took the opportunity to breathe deeply, keeping the phone a foot away before I heard her continue.  


“To which I replied, What? To which his friend replied by repeating the whole thing again, to which I said, I’m sorry but I’m not interested. He asked - or, I guess his friend asked - Why not? And I said, well amongst various other things, such as the fact that we have a shared class we must go to in five minutes or else risk tardiness, and thus no such coffee date could take place at the current time, I’m actually not interested in men.”  


“And how did he take it?”  


“Quite well, actually. He apologised, albeit rather quietly, and may have insulted his friend’s listening comprehension. We then had an awkward walk to class, in which I referred to the state of the weather twice and the conversation continued no further.”  


“Yikes.”  


“Yes, yikes indeed. How has your study been coming along?”  


I groaned into the phone, letting my _blleeeuurgh_ noise speak for me. Clearly it spoke volumes, as Kanaya _tsked_ at me.  


“Okay, here’s a relatively easy one, assuming one has basic knowledge of plants and a rather more advanced understanding of the English language. Daisy.”  


Ah, shit.  


“Elementary, my dear Kanaya. Daisies are well-known as being a universal symbol of innocence.”  


After one pulls an answer out of thin air, it is common practice to spare a few moments for prayer.  


“Lucky guess.”  


I hoped she couldn’t hear my sigh of relief.  


“Lilies?”  


For some reason, I was finding it harder than usual to grab these names and their definitions from the deep recesses of my brain. I could’ve sworn I had done a better job of memorisation than this. Suddenly, the meaning came to me.  


“Oh!” I let slip, before immediately regretting the lack of composure. “Devotion.”  


“Actually, the definition I gave you was ‘friendship’, although there are obviously multiple variations,” Kanaya said in an oddly strained voice.  


“I’m sure I just saw the other definition on the internet or something.”  


“Or something.”  


“Yes.”  


“Um, would you like another flower?”  


“Do you think you could remind me of what violets mean? I’m afraid it has simply slipped from my mind.”  


“Oh. Uh.”  


I didn’t understand why she was so flustered, but decided to see how far I could push her.  


“Any particular reason why you wouldn’t want me to know of the meaning? Why, Kanaya, have you hidden an illicit message of your own in the bouquet?”  


A few strangled responses. I laughed, and Kanaya quickly turned to an eloquence born out of embarrassment.  


“You’ll just have to figure out the meaning yourself, Rose. Surely your constant boasting of your _unparalleled_ intellect and observational skills should serve you well in this endeavour. My role, unfortunately, is limited to simply standing by the side and watching in awe as you once again astonish me into submission.”  


I waggled my eyebrows before realising that she could not see me, but she heard my silence and grumbled a little into the receiver.  


“Anyway, _Rose_ ,” she said, rolling the ‘r’ and showing off the ability that I sorely lacked, “You looked like you were ignoring the teacher even more than usual in class today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”  


“Hmm. Well,” I began, resting my elbow on the table and consequently brushing some scraps of paper off the surface. “There is something.”  


“Yes?” she asked quickly.  


“Yes.” I did enjoy drawing out the suspense, particularly when Kanaya’s patience was on the line.  


“Rose, I swear to god, Dave has gotten to the point faster than this.”  


“That’s a blatant lie and you know it.”  


“True. But please continue. Faster, if possible.”  


“I suppose. If I must. If your heart simply _cannot_ wait any longer. If all the-“  


“Rose, _please_.”  


“I have been having some interesting dreams.”  


I couldn’t be certain, but I swore I heard Kanaya sigh.  


“Really, if my dreams bore you so much, you didn’t have to ask,” I said.  


“It was unexpected. You don’t have to tell me about them if they did, but Rose, have your nightmares returned?”  


Bless Kanaya’s kind heart.  


“No, no, nothing like that. They’ve just been…very vivid.”  


“Have I been in any of them?”  


An interesting response.  


“Not yet. They seem to be more environment-based if anything. I just can’t get one of the images out of my head. I was…I’m not sure how to describe it. It was very surreal. As if I was flying and drowning at the same time.”  


“Are you sure it wasn’t a nightmare?”  


“Yes, I’m quite positive. I felt entirely in control of the dream, although I’m not sure if I would describe myself as lucid.”  


“You know, Rose, I hate to say it but this doesn’t really seem to be much of an event. I think it actually has to occur for it to be an event anyway, and not be a dream. Has anything else happened that could have affected you?”  


“I don’t think so. Maybe the teacher’s droning voice led me into a daydream?”  


“It’s probable. How’s your newest client going?” Kanaya asked, dropping it.  


“I have to write about Feferi, which shouldn’t be a hard task.”  


“What makes you say that?”  


What _did_ make me say that?  


“Well, she is quite pretty. And her tendency to wear bikinis as daywear certainly doesn’t hurt.”  


“Yes, I had noticed that. But-” Kanaya stopped herself.  


“What?”  
“It doesn’t matter. Any plans for the bouquet?”  


I told her my plans, and she said she’d let me get on with it. I felt a kind of relief, before turning to the pages of writing in front of me and starting my poem.  
She didn’t text me again later that night, as she often did. The reason her texts came so late was because it meant that I would’ve made my way through the next week’s homework and she would have grown bored of reading and a few minutes of conversation could be allowed. I did, however, get a text from a girl I had seen a few times in school, yet never really spoken to. I wondered how she got my number, or why she seemed so familiar.  


AG: Heyyyy!  
AG: You’re the nerd writing poems, right?  
TT: The one and only. What can I help you with?  
AG: Well, o8viously I need a poem! Duh! Yeesh, if you’re this dum8 I’m not sure I even want you to help me!  
TT: And yet you freely admit that you do need help.  
AG: Whatever. There’s this girl, and normally I wouldn’t have to pay for this prissy shit, but she seems like the type who’d like it, you know?  
AG: So if you could whip up a poem or something, that’d be gr8! If it’s good enough, I might even pay you. We’ll see, though.  
TT: Why does the concept of payment seem so elusive to my customers? Perhaps the common thread amongst them, aside from their obvious desperation, is an IQ low enough to require the aid of another in securing someone’s heart?  
AG: Wow, Terezi was right! You really are a 8itch.  


_That_ was how I knew her. She was the one Terezi had had a crush on for so long. Well, that was my theory, at least.  


TT: So is that who you want me to write this for? Terezi?  
TT: I must say, this charade of not knowing each other’s feelings did get old quite a long time ago.  
AG: What!!!!???? No you idi8t, I c8n’t 8elieve you would even say that! God!  
AG: Terezi’s just a friend!  
TT: Sure.  
AG: 8esiiiiiiiides, I want you to write this for someone else.  
TT: Who's the lucky lady?  
AG: Kanaya :::;)  


I turned off my phone and went straight to bed.

 

~

 

_Your eyes open to a field of weeds. They drift slowly, back and forth in the breeze that brings their earthy scent to you. The sky is purple and the clouds low. You sit down and are completely enveloped by the weeds, shrouded in their green. You feel an unmistakable urge to close your eyes, but before you can do so, the weeds all shrink, and your fingers press down not into weeds, but into flowers. They too are purple, yet a deeper and richer hue than the sky, reflecting pink off some unknown light source, which when you look down at your hands, you realise must be from you.  
_

_You decide to close your eyes anyway, and feel the ground shift and groan from underneath you, the flowers pulling you in deeper and deeper until you must be somewhere entirely different. You do not open them. The air smells heavy with moss, or perhaps rainwater. Beneath your back there is the crunch of pebbles, and you feel an ache. The shapes behind your eyelids twist from a glowing darkness into words, until you feel as if they must be embedded into your sclera, or into your soul, or just gone straight through you and into the soil._  


_A voice calls to you. At least, you think it is to you. You cannot translate the words behind your eyes, and you cannot translate the sounds that reach you from where you lay underground._  


_Feeling around the dampness, you discover a body lying next to you. When you open your eyes, you cannot see anything after all._  


_You test out your voice, yet produce only guttural thrums and hisses that you cannot even begin to consider. You are interested, and only mildly concerned, and try to sing. Something smells like its burning in the distance, and you realise you can no longer hear the voice, only the deep thrum of your song. Smiling, you rest your head back down onto the dirt. The pebbles beneath your back offer a strange kind of comfort to your spine, lifting your body into an unnatural curve. When you open your eyes again, hours or minutes later, your hands have gone from beneath you and the sky is red. You wish you were in a pool, swimming, nose bleached with chlorine and bubbles filling your lungs and then, just like that, you are. The air is lighter here. The breeze carries no scent._

~

Kanaya.  


“Kanaya!”  


She turned, startled.  


“Rose?” She looked almost scared. “Why are you screaming?”  


My hand flew to my throat. “Screaming?”  


I tried to listen to myself; if anything, I was speaking a little softer than usual. Kanaya tilted her head, listening, before she shook it gently.  


“Never mind. Why are you here so early?”  


I didn’t know what to say, so I lied.  


“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to just get ready for school and leave.”  


“At 6am?”  


I looked up at the sky to confirm the bright jets of light breaking through. Oh, I thought. I could’ve sworn it was earlier.  


“Yeah.”  


“Oh.” She looked away, down to her gardening tools. I felt a surge of inspiration – I had forgotten, or I had forgotten that I had remembered, that she came here early in the morning to weed plants in the greenhouse.  


“Can I help?”  


She brightened, and we passed the morning with idle chatter before I got up to head to class. She stopped me at the door.  


“Rose?”  


“Yes?”  


“That text you sent me…”  


I turned back to her. “What text?” My memories of this morning certainly didn’t include a text.  


“Oh, um. Never mind.”  


I walked to class. Shaking my bag off my shoulder, I thumbed around for my phone outside of the classroom, and scrolled through my recent messages, yet couldn’t find any incriminating texts, or any texts to Kanaya at all, just an slew of messages increasing in ‘8’s from Vriska. It seemed like I had wiped our entire history clean, which frankly was quite annoying. It wasn’t the first time I had accidentally deleted things in a sleep-hazy state though, and I was sleeping more and more these days. At least, I thought I was. I shook my head, and went into the room.  


My thoughts turned to Feferi rather quickly. Some of the words I wanted to use ( _she had seaweed locks, braided with shells and pearls, and water droplets stopping and dripping off the strands_ ) sounded too strange to my ears. She was, I thought, rather too good for that client. _Like Kanaya was_ , I thought, before I punched that thought’s lights out.  


Feferi liked wearing goggles to school, and swimwear, and other things that would get her relentlessly teased for if she wasn’t so popular. Feferi, in all honesty, would not want a poem or flowers. She simply wasn’t the type. Then again, many of the people I wrote poems for weren’t the type either, but I couldn’t just tell my clients that. I couldn’t shake the thought that Feferi would suit a leather jacket rather well, although of course she would never wear it. She led most of the school’s environmental and social activism, albeit with slightly unbecoming enthusiasm.  


Perhaps, I could link to her heritage; Feferi was from the oldest money imaginable, and comparisons to marble statues and Greek gods in my writing had never seemed to go amiss before. The way she stood sometimes, under the sun, lounging without even lying down and smiling at everyone and then laughing at them, was certainly reminiscent.  


I had grown rather bored of pretty writing. Although (after there had been some complaints) my prettier writing was now required, I longed to write of darker things. I didn’t think Feferi would mind – in fact, she’d prefer it.  


I wrote for the rest of the lesson, drawing upon the depths of my vocabulary and finally writing something more akin to what I would want. When I looked back down at my page thought, appraising my hour’s work, it was far, far longer than it was meant to be. More abstract, too, which I was proud of.  


Kanaya was at the door, waiting to walk together to the next class. I had completely forgotten that morning’s encounter until I saw her there and was reminded distantly of how queer that morning had seemed, as if the colours hadn’t quite settled on my memory yet.  


“Hello, Rose.”  


“Hello. It’s peculiar, I-” I was interrupted by Kanaya licking her thumb, and reaching it to my cheek, and rubbing. My mind couldn’t catch up to the movement for a moment, and I wanted to laugh at how odd it was, before I realised I must have had ink on my face. She smiled at my expression, and her hand stayed there a fraction too long.  


“I, um.” The doorway seemed to be stretching out before me, and the people rushing by blurring. “I have to go.”  


I pushed off from her, and half-ran to my next class, which, five stupid minutes later, I realised had Kanaya in it. I decided to play hooky for the day.  


I bought some breakfast and went to the park. This seemed as good a time as ever to try and think about the poem for Vriska. I looked at the text messages.  


AG: Helloooooooo????!!!!  
AG: Rose?  
AG: Holy shit, what the fuck is your problem. GOD!  
AG: Whatever! I’ll just write her one mys8f!  
AG: Have fun 8eing a 8itch!!!!!!!!  


Then, from this morning.  


AG: We all get 8usy sometimes, it’s chill! Haha.  
AG: Saaaaaaaay, would you still be up for this poem writing business?  
AG: I mean, Terezi pro8a8ly recommended you to me for SOMETHING, right?  


I was curious as to how quickly this would delve into hysteria, so I didn’t reply just yet. However, I did begin to think of what I could write about. Kanaya deserved something good. She deserved the best thing I had ever written, or could ever write. And I could tell her about how special she was to me, or, I quickly rehashed, to Vriska. But Kanaya knew of my business, so she would know I had written it anyway. This only increased the feeling I had to produce the best possible writing I could.  


It couldn’t be about her eyes, or about her lips, or whatever nonsense I had written for past suitors. Kanaya was such an important part of my life - she wasn’t going to get just any old love letter. She’d get one that would sweep her off her feet instantly, one that would make her fall in love upon reading it.  


With Vriska.  


And then, they’d be happy, and Kanaya would probably spend less time with me, or worse, I would have to spend more time with Vriska.  


On second thought, Vriska wasn’t even good for Kanaya. She was too bold, too brash. She wouldn’t want to stay up talking about the interior decoration of their future house, or how many bookshelves they’d own, or the evenings where they’d curl up together and drink tea and perhaps gossip about the silly people at school, or…  


I couldn’t think for any longer about Vriska and Kanaya lying somewhere together.  


Maybe a bouquet would be easier to think about. Roses came to mind, as a subtle way to let Kanaya know of my presence, yet I couldn’t help but think that it would imply my approval.  


Kanaya loved to use every colour she could fit into her sketches and into her clothes, wearing splashes of rainbow that only ever looked fashionable. Her lipsticks would also change colour almost daily, although I thought she perhaps had a small preference for green. And, upon a closer check through my mental collection of her faces, purple. It had suited her brown complexion amazingly well and I hadn’t hesitated to tell her, that first time she wore it. Her smile had been bright white in return, and I had smiled back at her.  


I wished I hadn’t deleted our text message history, as I was thinking of scrolling through our conversations like I did when I couldn’t sleep.  


Violets, I thought, would make a nice addition to any bouquet. And, what was that one which had meant friendship? That one too would fit rather nicely.  


And there had been that new book she was after, I remembered, my thoughts gaining momentum. Surely she would deeply appreciate anyone who bought her that. Or, again, a new sketchbook, for recently she had become to creep closer and closer to the end of her book, and had returned to sketch what she could in the edges between previous drawings. Or another shade of purple lipstick, maybe one a similar shade to the purple I wrote my texts in, or some new gardening scissors so she could begin shaping the hedges and leaves around the greenhouse.  


Yes, she had been given permission for that, hadn’t she? But she hadn’t started yet as she too swamped with her other work. Maybe I could write one of her assignments for her, or would she find that patronising?  


Vriska messaged again.  


AG: FORGET IT!!!!!!!!  
TT: Good morning.  
TT: I’m dreadfully sorry for my behaviour last night. Would you still be willing to work with me?  
AG: Ugh! Typical.  
AG: What, did your 8ig head get too heavy last night?? What happened?  
TT: Nothing of consequence.  
AG: God, you’re so annoying. I want that package by tonight or else I’m literally going to kill you!!!  
TT: Wouldn’t that make Kanaya upset?  
AG: She’s hung up on you enough that it’d be good for her!  
AG: Besides, since when do YOU care about Kanaya’s feelings, huh????!!!!  
TT: What?  
TT: I’m one of her closest friends, of course I care about her feelings.  
AG: Sure. Whatever.  
AG: You 8etter have written that shit by tonight, okay?  
AG: And you 8etter make it good!  
TT: Honestly, you could try to sound less like a cartoon villain.  
AG: Jeez! How do you get any customers at this rate?  
AG: 8ye!!!!  
Good riddance.  


I wondered what I could do with the rest of my day. Maybe I could just go home and curl up in a blanket with my cat. Or go shopping. Or… write that poem.  


Ugh, why did I even have to write it anyway? Kanaya would know it was me. I could just tell her Vriska wanted to date her, and I wouldn’t need to waste my time. And I’d still get paid, if Vriska didn’t find out. There, simple.  


A girl with a black beanie walked past, her hair trailing behind her.  


Behind her, a woman with a denim jacket. Her hair was braided neatly, and trailed down her neck to follow the arch of her back. Her skin was lighter in the gap between the jacket and her skirt, and then darker again at her legs. I looked back at her face, and saw she was staring at me. I startled, and gave a quick smile. She smiled back, and quickened her step to catch up with her friend.  


I wanted an ice cream, but held back as I had already had breakfast. I just needed some water, or anything cool I could maybe press against my forehead.  


A cold drip of a hand snaked around my neck. I turned around, my head spinning, yet saw only that a leaf had fallen down onto me. Distantly, I felt the back of my neck, rubbing the bumps and folds and feeling their heat.  


I watched the people walk by me for a little longer, until the sunlight had moved and I was in shadow. I didn’t know what to think about any more, so I just caught a bus home.  


Kanaya had messaged me.  


GA: Rose?  
GA: Where did you go?  


Then, an hour later.  


GA: I’ll message the notes to you when I get home. You didn’t miss much, don’t worry.  


The bus seat was uncomfortable underneath me and at least two people were coughing. I pressed my forehead against the glass, and thought of how Kanaya would inform me of the bacteria on the glass and how, really, I was only asking for acne if I chose to partake in such activities. And then maybe she’d lean her head down onto mine, too tall to rest on my shoulder, just like she had done on the trip to camp a few years ago. She had been homesick, missing her mother. I didn’t know what to say, so I just tried to keep as still as possible.  


Dave had laughed afterwards, while we were on the dusty asphalt and said that it looked really gay. I had shoved him away and told Karkat that Dave had used his toothbrush, and then walked away as an action movie star would walk away from an imminent explosion. It had made Kanaya laugh her sharp and dry bark that she was embarrassed by - it was much nicer than Dave’s laugh had been anyway.  


I decided I wasn’t going to respond to Kanaya’s message. Our friendship was getting unhealthily clingy if I was thinking about her this much. I probably needed to separate myself from her for a bit. I wasn’t sure how long, but however long it took for an easier distance to be created.  


I realised for that to happen, I needed to write the poem as quickly as possible so that she could leave my mind without any chance of re-entry.  


I got home and slapped my heart out onto a page before turning off my phone once more.

 

~

_The sky, this time, is green. You are amongst water instead of weeds. Somehow, you are sitting down directly on top of its silvery surface, feeling only occasionally the cold lap of the waves. It is this, rather than the sky’s colour, that alerts you to the fact that you are dreaming.  
_

_There is nothing around you as far as you can see and yet you can sense that deep underneath you something dwells. There are no clouds, no sun and no moon. Just you, the water and the sky. A noise beckons beneath you and you strain your ears to hear what it could be. Your first thought is that it is someone screaming, but it’s just a low thrum of a growl. Maybe it’s a sea monster – that could be interesting. Something with tentacles, hopefully._  


_A sharp pain in your collarbones makes you look down, but you can’t see what has happened. It’s not until black seeps out onto your chest that you are aware of words being written upon your skin. They are thick and heavy, and the pain does not stop. They spill out down to your stomach and hips and you tilt your head to try and read what they say. You still cannot decipher them entirely, but you notice repeating shapes that seem to function as punctuation. For a long, strange moment, you feel as if your body is covered in hundreds of tattoos._  


_Your hands are the last to be scribbled over, and you watch in awe as your nails are dyed black before, bizarrely, the letters start bleeding off of you, and into the air. They look almost comical, climbing upwards in such an absurd manner. As if some unseen force is pulling them upwards. The sky behind them is lighter now. It’s easier to breathe._  


_The sound is closer._  


_The last string of words travel from the veins of your arms to your fingertips until they too rise into the air, bringing you with them. You don’t exactly feel like you are floating, yet you know that you are no longer earthbound._  


_The skirt you are wearing makes itself known, in the sudden manner exclusive to one’s subconscious revealing new elements of a dream, as it drifts out beneath you like a dark cloud. Kanaya would like it, you think. She always had a flair for the dramatic in her clothing choices, and as the details of the dress appear, you can definitely confirm its ridiculous intricacy._  


“Rose,” _something calls._  


~

I jerk upwards, waking from a nap I didn’t realise I had taken. The blonde wisps of my fringe had stuck to my forehead in a sheen of sweat. My throat was sore so I dragged my legs forward and went to the kitchen for some water, stumbling in my sleep driven state. I didn’t know where my mother was. The thought, even now, was still comforting.  


A clock ticked next to me, determined to let itself known. The annoying metallic _snap_ like a bored child tapping on the table of a café, waiting for their parents to leave. I don’t think I ever was that child. It wouldn’t have been allowed. Instead, I smiled at the adults and imagined their heads being split by an axe, or the sharp teeth of a nightmare, or their own boredom and mediocrity finally ripping them to shreds while I watched. The smile, I think, unnerved them into leaving.  


The clock also told me that I really needed to text Vriska that poem soon before she vomited up another rant.  


AG: You 8etter not have forgotten!  
AG: I have waaaaaaaay 8etter things to do than remind you of your own jo8.  


[tentacleTherapist sent an attachment]  


TT: You paint me in such an unflattering light.  
TT: I have spent the last hours toiling over this poem, and I do believe it is the best I have ever created. Surely one fit for a pure and kind love such as the imminent one to be shared between you and Kanaya.  


I had no memory whatsoever of what I had written.  


TT: And as for the bouquet, I suggest night gladiolus and lilies.  
AG: I _guess_ this will do.  
AG: If this works tomorrow on Kanaya, you might even get some money out of it!  
AG: Wow! That must be pretty new for you, huh?  
TT: Tomorrow?  
AG: Wouldn’t you like to know :::;)  
TT: I’m assuming you’re planning to ask Kanaya out then.  
AG: Well, _duh_. My plan is a lot more extravagant than that though! It’s 8ig and 8old and you’ll wish you would have thought about it first!!  
AG: Like with everything I do.  
TT: You’re meant to pay me tonight.  
AG: But you don’t even deserve it yet!  
TT: Perhaps her answer wouldn’t change despite whatever gifts you brought?  
AG: I guess your gifts wouldn’t be good enough then!  
AG: It’s not like you even need the fucking money anyway, princess.  
AG: 8ye!!!!!!!!

She really was quite a bitch.  


Some minutes after the conversation, I wondered why I had left violets out of the proposed bouquet. Before I could ponder it any longer, the hard carpet of my floor rushed up to meet my face, slamming against each other in terrible harmony. My last coherent thought was that my mother would throw a fit at my blood staining the newly replaced design.

~

It’s dark. I open my eyes and have to blink a few times, because the blackness when I close my eyes is only intensified by opening them. It’s actually almost relieving, and I spend a few moments blinking into the velvet darkness. I can’t pick up even a hint of a light source, and my eyes either aren’t adjusting or there are no objects to slowly become visible. Even my own legs are covered by the black, like when I used to hide in curtains and wrap myself up entirely in their fabric when I was younger. I feel blindly around me, yet there is nothing. It begins to get disconcerting, rather than calming, and I feel my lungs constrict slightly.  


“Rose.”  


The same voice from before.  


“Who’s there?!”  


I clench my hand into a fist, the nails pinching into the flesh and my teeth gritted.  


There is a garbled response, before a moment’s pause. It sounds like it’s coming from my left, so I swing wildly into the air. I, of course, hit nothing.  


“You heard us. _Finally._ ”  


It is not one voice, but many, speaking in sick, perfect unison. They sound like they are struggling not only to speak, but to keep themselves alive.  


Something slippery and cold slinks its way around my neck, and I am lifted up, my feet dangling over whatever surface I was on.  


I scream.  


After a considerable amount of time spent screaming and dangling passes in which nothing else happens, I stop. I feel myself being turned slowly.  


“Not yet.”  


The appendage releases me and I fall, expecting the hard ground to hit me but reaching nothing. Either I was a lot higher than I thought I was, or the ground somehow disappeared. I don’t have much time to consider the thing’s words though, as my skin is suddenly alight and dusted with something I can’t make out. Screaming suddenly becomes a desirable option again.  


My limbs fold into each other and I am gone.

~

“Rose?”  


Kanaya is sitting upright against a chair, the sun shining in from the window behind her. She is wearing a dress and it has been carefully folded so that it reveals nothing and also doesn’t crease. I am barefooted. The floor is carpeted, and tickling me slightly. Kanaya is holding a soft ball of fur in her hands, which then stretches itself out to become a kitten.  


It looks at me.  


“Rose? You’re being quite rude, you know.”  


I’m not sure I can speak, but I try anyway.  


“How did I get here? I don’t remember anything.”  


Kanaya grants me a curious tilt of the head.  


“You’ve been so forgetful lately. We walked here.”  


“What happened to my face?”  


“Whatever do you mean?”  


I felt my cheek. It didn’t hurt at all.  


“Didn’t I fall?”  


Kanaya smiles, stretching her lips thing. Her teeth look almost filed.  


“You never fell, Rose.”  


The sun in the distance shows no sign of setting. I breathe in, feeling no pain in my lungs.  


“This is a dream, isn’t it?”  


“No, darling.”  


There are no clouds outside. I think I can smell bread baking, or something equally delicious and warm in the kitchen. Another kitten comes out from underneath the sofa. This one is calico and somehow smaller than the last.  


Kanaya reaches across to grab my hand. Her fingertips are cold, and her nails long.  


“Please wake me up,” I whisper.  


Her jaw unhinges in a glassy smile, stretching and ripping away from her cheeks. Surprisingly, she still has her dimples, although not for long. Everything begins to melt together; the kitten has become glued to Kanaya’s other hand, and it mewls out in pain. The fur sticks to the skin like a bad odour, before the kitten gives up and sinks downwards and out of sight.  


“Not yet.” Her blood is viscous and black as her face finally halves itself.

~

Someone is shaking me awake.  


“Rosie?”  


My mother.  


I close my eyes, too tired to play out another fantasy. And I hadn’t had nightmares for so long, too.  


Glass shatters overhead, and millions of tiny flecks fall and stab into my eyelids. The pain lasts only for a second – I ponder their strange accuracy much longer.  


“Not. _Yet._ ”  


The voices from before. They are no longer talking to me though, and the voices begin to split up and distinguish themselves from another in the hiss of an argument.  


“The girl-“  


“The Seer,”  


“She’s-“  


“Useless.”  


“Pathetic.”  


“Not ready.”  


“She’s-“  


“ _Mine._ ”  


The voices stop.

I woke up in a burst of pain and light, something cold and wet beneath me. I was lying on the floor again.  


What the _fuck_.  


A noise alerted me of my splitting headache, and I rolled my head to the side and saw my phone laying cracked beside me. Of course. What else could go wrong?  


I heaved myself onto my forearms and army crawled closer to the phone, feeling each of its vibrations rippling across the floor. I figured I was probably in too much pain to still be dreaming. Between the splintering plastic, I could just make out a username.  


CA: what is takin so long  
CA: i could’ve written at least ten poems by this point  


Shit. I’d forgotten about Eridan. _Definitely not for the first time_ , I thought to myself. The ensuing laugh wasn't worth the aching coughs it brought.  


TT: Now is really not a good time.  
TT: Or ever, to be honest.  
TT: Please don’t message me again.  


I tossed my phone to the side, not caring if its surface fractured any more. My mother would just buy a new one anyway. She’d buy anything I wanted her to. She was the kind of rich that made kids compare her to celebrities, when she’d never even done anything of note.  


She didn’t even make me, really.  


I tried to calculate the damage. My nose was bleeding, but not broken. My face was bruised. I hurt all over, but I didn’t think it was the kind of pain that lasted. I was probably in shock.  


I threw my plan aside for the moment; I needed to text Kanaya. Somewhat begrudgingly, I flung my arm around until it reached my phone again, and I thanked God that no one could see me.  


TT: Are you there?  
GA: Yes.  
TT: Do you think you could come over to my house? I am in a small predicament.  
GA: You haven’t killed anyone, have you?  
TT: There’s only one way to find out.  
GA: A search warrant?  
TT: I feel like your journey will be sped up considerably if I inform you that I am bleeding.  
GA: Oh my god.  
GA: Next time, I think you should start with that.  
GA: Or just not injure yourself doing whatever stupid thing you were doing in the first place.  
GA: That would also be acceptable.  
TT: Still bleeding over here, Kanaya.  


She didn’t respond, so I assumed she was coming over. I suddenly realised I didn’t even know what the time was – she could still be in class. A quick look told me I had been passed out for three hours. She had class.  


I decided not to bring it up when she arrived.  


I don’t know how long I lay down there – I thought it would prove a more dramatic position than just sitting down - but it felt like only a few seconds later that Kanaya let herself in through the door. Had I really not locked it? That was worrying. At least it meant I didn’t have to get up and risk losing the grand effect of lying down in a pool of my own blood. Granted, it wasn’t much blood, and it was located only around the head area, but it was theatrical enough. I lay my hands crossed on my chest like a corpse for added effect.  


Kanaya, of course, screamed.  


After she’d settled down – and I stopped teasing her – she grabbed some tissues and got to work cleaning my face.  


“Tilt your head back a bit. No, a bit- Yes, like that.”  


I counted the freckles on her cheeks as she cleaned. Really, she had an excessive amount of freckles for someone so dark. You really had to look to see them clearly, but they were definitely worth the effort when you saw them. Most good things in life were like that, I think.  


Kanaya was one of the better things in my life. Maybe the best.  


That, and hot chocolate. Hot chocolate was really damn good.  


I was being gently lifted up by the armpits, so I put my legs to use and helped Kanaya move me to a chair. I watched as she diluted some bleach and cleaned what she could from the tiles.  


It was nice to watch her arms scrub against the floors, some slight muscle showing under her skin. She looked so focused when she cleaned.  


I must have watched her for about twenty minutes because she was finishing up before I even realised. The soles of my feet were pressed against the bottom of the chair, pointed like in my old ballet class. It felt more natural.  


Kanaya opened the cupboards like she owned the place, getting exactly what she needed on the first try. Even I sometimes forgot which cupboard had what – although to be fair, my mother moved things on a whim. Kanaya adjusted, though.  


She passed me a mug of tea and I grabbed it by its sides without thinking. Kanaya flinched, then saw my unchanged expression.  


“Rose, doesn’t that hurt?”  


I looked down. My palms were turning reddish, I supposed.  


“Not really.”  


“Do you think could hold it by the handle anyway? I don’t want to see you get any more injured today.”  


I moved to hold the mug by its handle, then took a sip.  


“Is this some kind of side effect of fainting I didn’t know about, Rose? That tea is definitely scalding right now. Please just wait a little.”  


I waited. The scent of peppermint tea wafted around the two of us, and Kanaya took a seat next to me.  


“Are you feeling any better?”  


“Hmm.” I raised my eyes to search her face for any signs of ripping or bleeding. “Yeah, I think so.”  


“I’m glad. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here faster.”  


“Honestly, I’m surprised you got here as fast as you did.”  


Kanaya smiled. “I think Dave would’ve beaten me.”  


“Probably. With his track record, he would’ve arrived even before I fell.”  


We both took a sip of the tea. Kanaya was staring at me, probably assessing my check bruise. Distracted, I said the first thing that popped into my head.  


“Do you know Vriska?”  


Kanaya started beside me and looked away.  


“Do you?” She responded.  


“In a way. From that reaction I’m assuming you do too.”  


“In a way.”  


She turned to me, yet her eyes remained elsewhere.  


“I knew her before I knew you.”  


“What, when you were eight?”  


“Ten, actually. It was a long time ago.”  


Her hands fidgeted.  


“She used to be my best friend.” Finally she looked at me. “I was… I had a small crush on her.”  


Something thrummed through my veins. I spoke without thinking.  


“Did she like you back?”  


“No. I told her and she rejected me, so we didn’t hang out again.”  


“That’s pretty dramatic for grade school.”  


“When you’re friends with Vriska, _everything’s_ dramatic.” A soft smiled tugged on her lips and I pinched myself.  


“Do you miss her?”  


She hesitated. “Yes and no. I definitely don’t miss the drama but… she had an addictive personality. I felt… good around her, although I don’t know if I just felt superior. I used to be quite-” Here her eyes glinted and I grinned in anticipation, “-obnoxious.”  


I groaned while she laughed.  


“How long are you going to hold that one over my head?”  


“Forever, most likely.” Kanaya smiled again, still glazed over with nostalgia. “You know, I used to have a stupid typing thing like she has now. She told me it would be cool, and I, the ever loyal puppy, obeyed.”  


“You have to tell me what you used to type like right now, Kanaya. Immediately. Honour this dying girl’s death wish and give me this embarrassing secret.”  


“I capitalized the first letter of each word. Like a Fall Out Boy song.”  


“Oh my god. Was that a coincidence or intentional?”  


A heavy sigh.  


“Intentional.”  


While I burst into laughter beside her, she begged me not to tell anyone. I agreed, but only if she let me bring this up for the rest of our lives. As long as we were by ourselves, of course. She did not agree, but I didn’t let that bring my hopes down. When we quieted down, I looked out at the sky through the window. It was, thankfully, grey and cloudy.  


“Kanaya, I…”  


“Yes?”  


“I don’t think I’m going to school tomorrow. You know, to recover.”  


“Mmm. That’s probably for the best.”  


I decided to be selfish.  


“Do you think you could stay home with me?” I didn’t offer any further explanation – I knew she would say yes.  


“Of course, Rose. Do you want me to sleep over tonight, or just come over tomorrow morning?”  


I listened to the beating of my heart, considering its rhythm.  


“You haven’t slept over in a while. It could be fun.”  


“Could be? You underestimate my ability to talk through movies and go to bed early.”  


“I might not be the best company either, what with all the fainting. Of course, you’d still be blessed even hanging out with me at all.”  


“Ha ha. I’ll call Porrim to bring me some things, and then maybe we can watch a movie.”  


“Sounds like a plan.”  


I was watching her eyes so intensely that when they turned ink black I almost fell off my chair. _Fuck, not again_. I thought Kanaya must have called my name, but I couldn’t make it out. When I met her worried gaze again, fearing the worst, her eyes were back to normal.  


She noticed my relief. “Rose, I think you need to lie down. I’m going to get you some water, okay?”  


I murmured a response, and checked her for any other discrepancies. She looked as beautiful as ever, though.  


I had a thought. “Kanaya?”  


“Mm?” She called from the kitchen.  


“Could you add some salt to it?”  


A silence. Then the sound of steps towards me, and her head poking out from behind a wall.  


“What?”  


“Salt.”  


“Yes, I heard. I was saying ‘what’ more due to shock than confusion. Why on earth do you want saltwater?”  


“Humour me.” I faked a cough for her, and she sighed her assent.  


When she returned with the water, she plonked herself on top of my legs.  


“Do you remember when you thought you were a mermaid?”  


“Kanaya, I’m shocked you would belittle my prepubescent self like this. I believed I was a reborn tentacle creature from the deep. Also, you thought you were a vampire for almost a year, so shut up.”  


“Why were we so embarrassing? God.”  


I wondered if asking her to lie down with me was too weird. Even if I didn’t, her weight on top of my legs was comforting enough nonetheless.  


“Do you remember how we met?” she asked.  


“Oh my god. Please don’t bring this up.”  


“I can’t help it; you brought up vampires and my mind just went there.”  


“Can’t we just lie to people and say that we met while both volunteering for a charity or something?”  


“But the truth is so much more in character...”  


“Ugh. You’re right. I can’t believe goddamn Twilight brought us together.”  


Here, Kanaya grabbed my hand and held it to her chest, sighing melodramatically.  


“I couldn’t imagine it being anything else.”  


“I remember I was so angry at your cosplay being better than mine that I basically quizzed you on the spot about the smallest details of the Twilight canon.”  


“And I was just reading Twilight because I liked vampires.”  


“And Alice,” we said in unison.  


“I couldn’t stop thinking about you for weeks,” I admitted. “I think I prepared some stupid speech I would say to make you realise what an inadequate fan you were.”  


“I’m so glad we ended up going to the same school.”  


I had met Kanaya for the second time when the librarian refused to let her borrow Eclipse – she had told me later she wanted to impress me with her knowledge if we ever met again – due to its mature content. I had given her mine as, embarrassingly, I kept all the novels with me at all times. She had thanked me and we had spent lunch together reading them.  


“I am too. I wish we weren’t so embarrassing though.”  


“Well, knowing you for so long really helps when buying you Christmas presents, so I guess there’s a positive.”  


“We were emo for so long…”  


“I mean. We both wear black lipstick pretty regularly even now, Rose.”  


“Shhh. We made it cool.”  


Kanaya was still holding my hand. I tried to drink some of the saltwater with my other hand, but in my distraction forgot that I was lying down. I shrieked as it spilled all over my mouth and neck, and Kanaya let go in shock.  


“Oh my god. I’m going to get some more water for you so I can go laugh about this in the kitchen.”  


Still spluttering, I felt the warmth of her legs leave mine and fidgeted away the strangeness of the sensation.  


“Fuck you, Kanaya.”  


Kanaya laughed, twisting her hand behind her in a kind of wave as she strolled into the kitchen. “You love me anyway.”  


I dropped the glass on the floor. It shattered with a kind of finality, a full-stop on a conversation I didn’t realise I’d been having. She stopped and turned back to me.  


“Rose?”  


_Think fast._ “Sorry, I’m probably still a bit shaky from the whole fainting thing. I’ll go wash my face to wake myself up.”  


I left the room as quickly as possible as Kanaya watched motionlessly from the doorway.  


My internal monologue turned into a string of swear words as I walked away, wondering if I could make some excuse to just not go back in.  


You live here, Rose, I thought to myself.  


Fuck off, I thought back.  


The water in the bathroom was too warm on my skin and it felt like my face was burning. The porcelain sink beneath me was cool though, so I pressed my cheek to it and prayed it would help. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something black gripping to the sink and fell over backwards trying to get away from it, heart beating fast. There was nothing on the sink.  


My hand, however, was stained black from fingertip to wrist. Looking closer in horror, I saw tiny white flecks that looked like stars. When I moved my hands, I felt as if I must be dreaming again as the flecks did not follow my movements but instead stayed where they were, only revealing more stars whichever way my hand turned. It looked like it was some kind of window into space, and no longer the hand that Kanaya had touched so gently.  


I screamed, and she came running. I heard her behind me, suddenly, and I turned around to warn her just as her body slammed into mine. After a moment of shocked silence, I looked down to see my arm impaling her stomach, the inky blackness stretched to my elbows and just visible poking out from her dress.  


Kanaya hadn’t noticed yet somehow, her hands still darting over my cheeks and my chin and my jaw as if checking to see whether I was injured. I realised I was crying.  


“Kanaya, my hand-“  


“What?” She looked down, her movements coming to a halt. “Oh my god.”  


The blackness was traveling up to my shoulders, now, and I tried to move my hand out of Kanaya to find that it slipped out as easily as if she weren’t flesh and bone but air.  


Her clothing remained intact, as did her stomach. Shocked, Kanaya raised a hand to touch my arm, and marvelled at how it fell right through. I thought she should probably be screaming, or doing _something_ , but she continued looking at the constellations that had formed at my collarbones with an eerie fascination. There were more and more lights in me now, but there were also noises echoing out from deep within me. They sounded like the ones in my dreams. I felt lighter than I had ever felt before; I thought I might fly any minute.  


She moved her hand out from my arm just as my eyes rolled back into my head and I collapsed into her arms.

~

I was writing. I was writing poetry. The side of my hand skimmed back and forth over the pages as the letters turned into words turned into sentences. I was writing. I did not know what I had written, but it was poetry. The words all had meaning and I had given it to them. Now, I had to give the words to someone else. Ink stains are difficult to get out of hardwood tables however, and my hands did not soften their grip on the pen.  


The only thing that mattered was the page in front of me, and the writing. The message had to be delivered. The poetry.  


Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.  


I could write forever, if I had to. I could lose myself to the words. I don’t know how long I wrote for. I don’t know what I wrote. Soon the paper wasn’t paper after all, but skin. Yet it was not a flesh tone I was familiar with; it was deep grey and malnourished.  


The words in front of me seemed incomprehensible, but before long they twisted into something I could understand. _The girl. The gods of the Furthest Ring. The vessel._  


I had to write for creatures that could not write themselves, yet had a story to tell. I always thought I was good at storytelling.  


I wrote.

~

Something was behind me. I noticed only seconds before it spoke, engrossed by my words.  


“Stand up.”  


I did so immediately.  


It stepped into me, and I took a back seat in my own thoughts.  


_You are weak. We can make you stronger._  


My writing had disappeared. The temperature dropped suddenly, and I felt the cold ache within my bones. There was only blackness around me, but in the blackness millions of limbs writhed. I thought they were limbs, anyway.  


They made no noise, yet I felt as if I was being deafened. My arm was raised in front of me, not of my will but of someone else’s. It was fading into the background, the endless blackness matched in my palm, and I realised that I was at its source.  


It was only then I noticed the stars all around me, bright pin pricks in a wasteland. They were either stars, I thought, or eyes.  


My grey pallor was bleeding into the dark as I disappeared into the night.  


_We are going back._  


In a pop of starlight, I fell out of existence again.  


Before I knew it, I was back in the bathroom.  


_Stand up,_ they repeated. I did, with some difficulty. My vision blurred together, and I noticed a face staring at me. I paid it no mind.  


_We need to learn more. Show us your Earth._  


Learning was one of my strong suits. My legs, however, felt like they were dripping down into the floor and becoming one with the tacky colours. I attempted to trudge one foot in front of the other, and broke down onto the floor below.  


My arms were pure sludge, I thought. My fingers unusable and my eyes unseeing. I smelt, however, all the acrid and acidic smells of the bleach and the plastic and the metal around me. I coughed something cold up, my throat stinging with the effort. Something was left wriggling in my throat, caught on the ridges of tongue and muscle. I pushed my shoulders forward blindly, but felt I had made no distance.  


_Not yet_ , they roared from within me.  


In an instant, sight bled back into my eyes, and I looked down and saw that my legs were not ruined after all. I looked just as I had before, yet as I tested movement, my actions were still strained and my arms fatigued. Someone was crying, and then I felt the hard whack of a slap across my cheek. It snapped me alert, and my eyes twisted around to find Kanaya, staring at me with a gaze as sharp as a dagger.  


“Explain.”  


_I can’t,_ I thought. _Not yet/_  


I gestured wildly to my neck, and she looked down and back up, incredulous.  


“Frankly, I don’t care if you can’t talk right now. You better find a way to communicate with me right now before I call your mother and also the police because to be honest, I’m utterly terrified right now. Did you just die? I don’t understand, Rose. You need to tell me what just happened, so I can react in an efficient manner, or really, any manner at all. Or, if you’re feeling particularly ridiculous, I can slap you again. What’s it going to be?”  


I breathed in, trying to gauge my vocal chords. I tried to tug something out of them, as just as I thought it might be working, I threw up onto Kanaya’s lap.  


Now she screamed. She jumped up and desperately tried to wash the stain off at the sink, cursing the entire time. I pressed my face down to the floor – the tiles were so cold.  


“Rose, that floor is literally filthy and you are lying down next to your own vomit. Please get up, you are behaving like a child.”  


“Mm,” I managed to hum.  


After a few minutes of furious scrubbing, Kanaya slumped down onto the floor as well.  


“This was one of my favourite dresses…”  


Suddenly she snapped to alertness, and was once again looking at me.  


“What the hell was that?”  


She didn’t seem to be expecting an answer this time, so I just stared back at her. I must’ve looked completely terrible right now, but I tried to smile and comfort her. She flinched.  


“Okay, I’m going to make some tea and then we are going to sit together somewhere where there is no vomit and then we are going to talk.”  


She got up and heaved me up by my armpits like she had done earlier that night, and basically dragged me to the next room. I felt like my upper torso must be fading into hers, or that she was merging into me, yet we remained separate. She threw me rather unceremoniously onto the sofa again.  


“Right. Now for tea.”  


Distantly, I remembered that Vriska hadn’t paid me yet. And I probably had a billion angry messages from Eridan; maybe he would’ve already made a vague Facebook status about me at this point. I had an assignment due soon I hadn’t finished yet either, something on the Chinese revolution, or the French. I couldn’t stretch my memory that far. My mother had to be coming home soon.  


I decided to test myself on flower meanings to calm myself down.  


_Sunflower: adoration._  


_Pink rose: appreciation._  


_Red rose: passionate love._  


_White rose: purity._  


_Yellow rose: friendship._  


_Lilac: first love._  


I continued chanting the definitions in my head, curled up on the sofa while Kanaya boiled the kettle. I fell asleep before she came back. When I woke, I was wrapped in a blanket and the cold cup of tea had been left on the table beside me. An empty glass sat next to it.  


My back ached from sleeping in an unusual position, but I made no movement to get up. Daylight seeped in from a window, and I wondered if my mother had saw me. Did she walk by and give me a kiss on the forehead, or did she not even notice I was there? I hadn’t seen any sign of her for months, except for the steadily declining liquor collection, yet sometimes if I stayed up late enough I heard the door closing as she came home.  


The last time I had seen her was when she had taken the violets from me. It was a one minute interaction. We mainly communicated through writing, anyway, but only to remind each other of our new efforts of appreciation and deepest admirations for each other. I had wanted to get her a bouquet with one of Kanaya’s hidden messages in them, yet regrettably hadn’t found the time. I’d forgotten what her job even involved, to be honest. It didn’t interest me.  


I realised Kanaya had left a note for me on the table.  


_Rose,_  


_I am so sorry to do this to you, but I have a biology lab today that I simply cannot miss. I forgot about it when I promised to stay with you yesterday, and I am sincerely apologetic._  


_Last night seems like a dream, but I know what I saw. Do not try to convince me otherwise. I’ll come back as soon as my lab is over, and we can talk. Of course, there will also be yelling involved._  


_I know the word must lose meaning upon its repetition, but I must tell you once again I am sorry that I am leaving you._  


_Kanaya._  


_P.S. Your skin turned grey while you were sleeping. If this means anything to you, please explain, as I am unfortunately not knowledgeable in the slightest of whatever sub-par supernatural young adult fiction your life has turned into._  


_P.P.S. You almost looked like a vampire. My prepubescent self wept tears of jealousy._

Vriska was in her biology class.  


Fuck. I couldn’t keep them apart despite my best efforts.  


Despite the events of the previous night, and despite the literal possession of my body I had experienced, this felt like the worst outcome that could have transpired. I was a teenager, after all, I thought to myself. Maybe I was trying not to freak out over the first thing by finding something lesser and substantially more juvenile to freak out over instead. To ground myself, or something.  


No matter what justification I gave it, I still felt supremely shit at the knowledge that Vriska would ask Kanaya out, and that Kanaya would say yes.  


_Why do you feel shit?_ I asked myself, trying to mimic the therapist I hoped I would one day be.  


Vriska wasn’t good for Kanaya.  


_You didn’t think Nepeta was good for her either._  


She wasn’t mature enough for her, plus they weren’t even friends. It wouldn’t have worked out.  


_And who would?_  


I had better things to do than argue with myself, sorry, I snapped before feeling foolish.  


Still, my thoughts raced on. My forehead felt clammy with sweat, and I noticed an itch in my throat. I needed something cool to drink and ease my nerves. The liquor cabinet beckoned, and I followed. A little sip, I thought.

I don’t remember what happened next.  


Kanaya came home to me sprawled on the sofa passed out, with an embarrassingly large amount of bottles next to me – most, however, unopened. When she gently woke me up and gave me some water, I realised with a cold finality that my mother must have seen me, as there was a sticky note on the liquor cabinet. I decided to never, ever read it.  


I knew nothing had possessed my body, but God did it feel like it. I felt all the nausea and the heaviness that had come when that creature had released me, just a day before. The floor had resumed its prior state of comfortableness, and my mind was just as hazy.  


“Urggh?” I groaned eloquently.  


It was dark outside. Jesus, almost all my activities recently seemed to involve passing out for hours on end. Was it even the same day?  


I felt as if my mind had blurred into itself, my vision doing double time and creating odd, fragmented imaged that eventually fell into each other and back out again. I put my cheek back on the sofa and realised it felt much stickier than usual. I hoped to God I wasn’t lying on anything disgusting, as I was way too tired to consider moving. I did, however, look around.  


Kanaya was sitting on the floor cross-legged and calm, staring at me with a horrible kind of clarity. I rolled away, my cheek pulling away from whatever fluid it had stuck to. My body heaved with the effort, and I slumped back down. Soon, I realise I’m lying on the blanket Kanaya gave to me before and I feel a surge of emotion well up in my chest until I start crying. I pray that Kanaya doesn’t notice and do anything because, honestly, her seeing me like this already has ruined anything between us.  


I made a monumental effort to keep my shoulders still as I cried as silently as I could manage. I didn’t sniff my noise, or wipe my eyes, as those are the dead giveaways.  


Violets. Kanaya had read me a poem with the word violet in it once, and it came back to me with the force of someone grabbing my heart and squeezing. I couldn’t remember the beginning, but the ending was fresh in my mind.  


_Do not forget me, for you know how I love you._  


_But if you should forget, then I will remind you_  


_How fair and good were the things we shared together,_  


_How by my side you wove many garlands of violets and_  


_Sweet-smelling roses, and made of all kinds of flowers_  


_Delicate necklaces, how many a flask of the finest myrrh_  


_Such as a king might use you poured on your body,_  


_How then reclining you sipped the sweet drinks of your choice._  


I doubted the drink of my choice was what she had intended. I caught up to my brain and realised I had also remembered the poet was a woman – this seemed like an important detail.  


Kanaya had told me after she recited the poem (which she had just found, she had said, and had loved instantly) about women giving violets to women they wanted to woo. How it was like a secret code – Kanaya was still just as fond of secrets then as she was now. She must have told me years ago, so long ago I don’t think I had known she wasn’t straight then.  


I had said that it sounded ridiculous, when really I had felt something within me seize.  


When she had said it, I had been lying on her lap. I don’t know how old we were. I had made an excuse to leave, and had taken a moment in the bathroom to shove any other ridiculous thoughts down into the depths of my mind. I guess they had all decided to rush back up in this terrible, terrible moment.  


I felt like my pores were entirely clogged with tears, yet I kept my body unmoving as a corpse. Still, I thought must have known. Kanaya had a way of knowing things, often before I knew them. She just didn’t mention them because she knew not just of the ways of the world, but of etiquette. She was so, so good.  


I was such an idiot.  


How long I had been in love with her? How long she had known? If she had known, if she had ever guessed, if there was any chance she was in love with me too.  


A cold realisation gripped me; Vriska had asked her out today.  


I stopped crying.  


Before I could say anything, I once again fell through my own realities, my consciousness tripping into its subconsciousness. I was reminded rather grotesquely of the skin of a cat being turned inside out.  


I slipped into my new environment within the span of a few seconds, and promptly knelt down and threw up. The bile, when I opened my eyes to look at it, was black and slimy, and seemed to consist of thousands and thousands of small spherical…things. I thought it was a strange type of caviar for a moment, until what I assumed were eggs began moving. I felt as if I was going to throw up again, and while my body did heave, nothing else came out.  


Honestly, this was starting to become ridiculous.  


“Hello?!” I tried to call out, but it came out more as a _Hrggh_ and then a series of coughs.  


_Yes, I think you’ve almost got it. Try again._  


I tried to listen to how they had said it. It definitely wasn’t English, yet I seemed to understand it anyway. The language was deep and rough, and sounded like it would be immensely painful to attempt, even for a native.  


_Hello_ , I whispered, my throat scratched with the effort.  


_Excellent. Now that you have learned to use your mouth properly, I want you to do the same for your eyes._  


I didn’t understand. I couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but something thick and wet had reached out touched my cheeks, and then my eyelids, which I closed willingly.  


As soon as they dripped onto my eyelids, my skin seemed to absorb the liquid, and I felt the utterly bizarre sensation of my eyeballs being coated with something. I didn’t scream, and I heard a hum of approval somewhere. Then, the lights behind my eyes turned a bright, gleaming white, as if the sun itself were scorching itself into my vision.  


I opened my eyes.  


_Oh,_ I gasped out.  


There were thousands of creatures in front of me, yet their texture was not of darkness and slime, but of constellations and light. I couldn’t make out their features through all of the glitter, yet they nonetheless instilled a warm feeling of comfort in me, at my new home among the stars. I, too, was enveloped in their galaxy, and their many arms and eyes began to lift me up from underneath me and hold me down, closer to where home must be and closer to their beautiful beating hearts. I felt like butter when they held me, something melting and easy to slice open, the yellow of my hair dripping onto them.  


_We need you,_ they said, and I believed them.  


_You understand us,_ they said, and I did.  


_You are our vessel,_ they said, and, a sweet, sweet moment later, I was.  


My eyes gleamed with their knowledge, my lips pulled back and voice shrill with their anger. I felt impossibly full, a human trying to hold the stars, yet the stars were welcoming themselves into me, and I was welcoming them back. We fit together nicely.  


I had to go back. They had made me a portal between the worlds, as my mind had already lingered so close to their depths – _You understood us,_ they whispered into my soul – that tearing open the distance had been simple as tearing apart butter. _You were so malleable for us,_ they said approvingly, and I smiled with the teeth of a monster that was glad to hear praise of their kill. I felt like I was glowing.  


Before I went back, however, they wanted to show me more of their world. _You will like it,_ they assured me, and I felt no doubt in my mind.  


They introduced me like a queen, and began discussing my imminent coronation.  


There were tasks I would have to do, before I could go back, they explained. Their arms held me like a caress. I didn’t listen in to the conversations, as I would have usually done, and instead marveled at the feeling of their embrace, at the night sky around me and the constant yet distant humming of voices that rattled into me like a drum. They were too far away for me to hear, whatever these noises were, but they offered me such amazing music, and their rhythm offered a comfort and a beat for my own heart to match. Looking up at the world above me, I felt I could break every inch of it apart.  


Indeed, my hands were beginning to shake from not being held in fists, and my tongue was calling for blood.  


My eyes, however, were content to watch the events unfold, not yet white-hot with rage and instead empty with the peacefulness of a corpse.  


_And what of her Earthly body?_  


_Her skin remains grey._  


_And the girl?_  


_The girl remains with her._  


_But what if-_  


_No, she will not do it._  


_We will have to destroy her to make sure._  


_Of course._  


_We had touched-_  


_No, she will not do it,_ they repeated.  


I grew bored of listening. I resumed surveying my surroundings, and discovered clusters of eggs huddled in the shadows, pulsating with unborn life. Flecks of light, or stars, or simple dust drifted around me, filling the air – or was it water – with thousands of imperfections. My mind, it seemed, could not focus. I felt drugged. Perhaps it was the satisfaction of fulfilling the needs of the gods – they had informed me rather petulantly that they were _horrorterrors_ , but I found the name childish. Besides, ‘gods’ had a much nicer ring to it. I could feel as if I were divine, in some way; that I had become the link between realms that Michelangelo hadn’t dared to depict.  


Tentacles began to slide their way up my legs, leaving a slick residue. I watched their progression with eerie calm, until they had garnered enough support to heave my body upwards. Residue slipped from every pore of their grotesque flesh. I noticed it was bubbling together and collecting itself, forming small shapes on my skin. Slowly, it grew into a translucent sphere, that became bigger and bigger with each tentacle that slid back and forth on its surface. One rounded edge of a tendril prodded the sick, almost saliva-like texture, until it gave way and let it in. The rest of the orb held its shape however, and did not pop like I honestly expected it to. I realised they were making an opening for me to climb into, so I pushed myself into it and watched as they closed whatever entrance they had made. I gave an experimental shove that proved fruitless; only they could break it.  


The bubble had grown impossibly, and had become opaque in its evolution. I could no longer see the gods, although I supposed they could see me. Surely my mind had been manipulated to think the bubble was larger than it was; surely they couldn’t have magicked something into existence that was this big.  


Although, I couldn’t think of why they shouldn’t be able to do that. But, as the bubble began to drip goop that twisted into metal and tiles, I couldn’t help but feel that I was in my mind. It just seemed so entirely catered for me.  


The drugged feeling from before had only increased. It almost felt like I was dreaming, as it had the same sick absurdity my dreams had been filled with, ever since… ever since what? Had I always had such vivid dreams? Did I get the same sense of sick pleasure in each one?  


How long had I been communicating something to the gods? Or, I corrected, how long had they been communicating with me?  


A voice boomed from overhead.  


_Your physical body must be sleeping for us to begin. Do not worry, we will not bring harm to it._  


_You will control my body?_ I asked, directing my voice to the light filtering in through the tall branches.  


_Yes._  


_Am I in a dream now?_  


_Not yet. Soon you will be. It is the only time your mind is close enough to us that we can reach forward and break the distance. Then, we can come to you._  


_So for a god to be recognised for what they are in the mortal realm, they must inherit a mortal body? How ironic._  


_Silence now, we are starting. You will not wake for many hours._  


I felt slightly chastised, so I tried to distract myself with the dreamscape. Before I could do anything, however, my body seized up and hung itself in the air, motionless. My eyes darted around, watching the trees shrink and wrap themselves around my limbs in frozen horror, until they rolled back into my head.  


One root closed off my throat, and I felt all the small, newborn branches stretch out into my throat, and I started choking. For an immeasurable time, all I did was choke up what was either blood or vomit, which then couldn’t leave my body, which caused me to choke again. The branches, at least, had stopped growing as saplings.  


This isn’t real, I reminded myself. It’s just a dream.  


However, blinking back into the dark nothingness, I couldn’t say dreaming had ever felt so much like death.  


Despite the darkness, I knew that the dream world was still around me – I could feel movement and heat, but my eyes and limbs had simply given up on interacting with it. I wondered if I would have enjoyed whatever dream I was supposedly having. I wondered what colour the sky would be this time.  


_Rose!_  
Whatever had been growing inside of me was pulled out like a rope, and my throat burned with the harsh scrapes.  


The voice hadn’t belonged to the gods. I was helpless to answer in any way, however, so I just relished the feeling of no longer choking.  


_Rose!_ They screamed again, their voice louder, more desperate than before.  


I could feel the borders of the bubble again, and my body curled up as it slowly shrank around me. Soon my legs and arms were bunched up in the foetal position, my neck weighed down by the thin and wet stretch of material. Behind my eyes there was a great beam of white light, and then they rolled back and I could only see white instead of black. I wondered if I had been granted vision again, or if this was merely a new form of torture. Gradually, however, my sight adjusted and the white glow was pulled back and emanated only from one form in front of me, against a backdrop of blinking eyes. It was almost glittering with its sheen, and I could make out its hands pressing against my container.  


“Rose!”  


The voice filled with me with a sudden and scarily immense relief, and I felt years of laughter, pain, love – _memories_ – flood into me. It wasn’t as if I had lost them; they had just been put aside for a moment. Kanaya had come for me. I wanted – no, I needed – to sink myself into her, lose myself again in something entirely new. I didn’t know whether I wanted to hug her or kiss her in that instant, but I knew I wanted to touch her, so I could know she was there, and feel her skin against mine.  


A shriek of noise roared to life, and as my eyes focused, I realised Kanaya was brandishing a chainsaw. She turned around with the determination of a gladiator, stepping into battle and hungry for blood. Through the slightly distorted lens of the bubble, I watched her slice the monsters around her into writhing worms.  


My own Persephone, descending into hell for me. The chainsaw, I amended, was probably not found in the original myth. In front of me Kanaya continued ripping through the blackness like scissors through thread.  


As soon as she moved, the hordes of snake-like appendages wrapped themselves back around the bubble, until they slipped through and wrapped themselves around me, pulling me out. I was raised higher than I had ever been raised before, and I used this newfound height to survey the battlefield before me.  


Kanaya was a bright, burning white, and was manipulating the air around her into weapons and shapes. I couldn’t comprehend it, so I just watched her fight off the swarms of gods unblinkingly. She seemed so controlled, so assured of her abilities that I felt my heart jump into my throat. The gods were bleeding liquid iron, or something akin to it, and it splattered with a sharp contrast against the night. Wherever it spilled, flowers burst out and sparkled, and I realised we must have been in my head, and not wherever the gods had lived. Had they truly made such a home of my subconsciousness that I could no longer even control it? Kanaya was having no problem manipulating my mind to do her bidding, I thought, as she twisted dream matter into a shield of thorns. It struck me that it was like she was lucid dreaming.  


I brought back the memories of my dreams, and of the ever-changing environments, and tried to see if I could help her. I brought my hands in front of my face, and pulled. Out of the abyss fell a ballpoint pen and - holding it like the wand I wished for in childhood - I tried to rewrite the world around me. I began to unscrew the light bulbs of the creatures’ eyes, and watched them blink out of existence as they dropped and shrieked beneath me. One by one, I blinded them, imagining their yellow waxy pupils shriveling up and wilting.  


Kanaya had stopped and stared up at me, and I noticed her sweat. She couldn’t do this for much longer – how long had she been doing it for? I didn’t know, and I didn’t know how I could ever repay her. I pointed the pen at her nonetheless, trying to help in whatever way I could. Before I could pull existence out from under itself again, however, the tentacles lifting me out of harm’s way peeled themselves from my skin and ripped the pen away. Kanaya screamed as they pulled me down into their writhing masses. I felt as though I was being swallowed whole.  


The tentacles slid around me, enveloping me in their slickness again. I tried to shut my eyes tight, but found I could only stare out into the gap that had been made for them, and watched helplessly as a large eye manifested itself.  


_You have disappointed us._  


I wanted to sob out a million apologies. The sounds outside, however, reminded me of Kanaya, and I stubbornly kept my thoughts centered on her to block out their words. I wondered if Kanaya could hear them too, if they had tried to use her. I doubted she would ever fall prey to them, she was too strong, and I was so weak. I was such an idiot. I didn’t deserve this, and I didn’t deserve her.  


_No, you don’t._  


A hiss of life interrupted the voice, however, and I split open from the shell of limbs. Kanaya’s chainsaw hangs heavy beside her.  


“Rose, I need your help!” she screamed at me, and for a crazed, hysterical moment it sounded like ‘I love you’.  


I took a deep breath.  


The gods still dripped between the crevices of my mind, their thoughts possessing no hard edges but still startling fear into my heart, but they had not kept their previous strength. I remembered Kanaya’s words and focused on her voice until I could no longer feel their presence. I watched as the world shriveled up and turned to stare at me, waiting. Their vessel was no longer quite so willing.  


It began to rain.  
“I no longer need you here,” I intonated perfectly into the crowd. “Leave.”  


A searing warmth bubbled underneath my fingers, and I flung forth a sun to burn away any shreds they may have left. The roaring thunder from Kanaya’s fingertips pauses in politeness. Together, we watched the shrieking mess of eldritch terrors bring themselves to their tallest height, before crumpling like paper before us. Of course, we could not kill them, but they left nonetheless. It was more than enough to ask for, I thought, as they crept into themselves to find someone new to diminish.  


Kanaya turned to me before it had ended.  


“You will need to open the portal again so that I may follow you when you wake.”  


Her words held strong despite the tears running down her cheeks that I respectfully ignored. After all, she has not yet mentioned mine.  


“Hold onto me,” I asked, and marveled as she easily obliged.  


I pressed my forehead to hers, cocked the wand to my neck like a gun, and fired.  


I shot upwards from the floor first, and experienced something akin to dissolving as I watched from above me as Kanaya pulled herself out of my own glowing body. As soon as the last inch of her has returned, whatever had been opened closed once more, and I see through my own eyes again.  


We stared at each other in silence for a few moments before Kanaya started hyperventilating.  


“Why did you do that?!”  


I was scared by her intensity, and couldn’t think of what I had done. “What?”  


“Kill yourself!” She pauses. “Or whatever the hell you just did.”  


Her chest heaved, breathing quickly. I realised she must be still coming off of the adrenaline.  


“I thought it would work better than pinching myself.”  


She barked out a laugh despite herself, before reaching over and seizing me in a hug.  


“How did you…” I began, before trailing off, not knowing in the slightest how to describe what just happened. She seemed to understand all the same.  


“When you fainted, it was just like before. I could… I could go into you.” She gripped me tighter. “The portal worked two ways; I don’t think whatever opened it realised.”  


I didn’t know what I could possibly say.  


Kanaya laughed again, as if she had just considered something new.  


“We are going to need _so_ much therapy.” I laughed with her, before we climbed into hysterics.  


“No one would believe us,” I gasped when I had a breath.  


“You can be my therapist, then. Didn’t you – don’t you want to do that? Be a therapist, I mean.”  


“I can’t imagine us taking a single session seriously.”  


“We’d have each other though.”  


I looked up at her, but already the bubble of hysteria rose again.  


As our laughter descended into crying, I noticed something pressing into my hands, and wondered for an instant if I have somehow brought the pen with me. I broke away from Kanaya, and looked down to see that my murder weapon had been replaced with a bundle of violet. They are slightly deformed from our embrace.  


I thought back and remembered that I had been making myself think only of Kanaya – could that have twisted its previous form? Surely it couldn’t have been potent enough to manifest itself into reality. God, how embarrassing.  


Kanaya looked down with me, and we both watched my shaking hands as I offered the flower to her. She grasped my hands instead, holding me while I hold the flower. Through the blur of my tears, our hands almost looked like a yin-yang, except one painted with browns instead of black and white.  


My eyes darted upwards, and I saw her leaning towards me. I leaned in with her, and tasted the salt of our tears as we kissed.  


When we broke apart, I smiled up at her.  


“Did you know I wrote a poem for you?”  


She laughed, a high-pitched beautiful thing, and slapped my arm.  


“Yes! There’s no way it could’ve been written by Vriska. It was so corny, Rose, I can’t believe it!”  


I sulked until she whispered a thank you into my ear, and pulled me in for another kiss. I quickly forgave her.


End file.
